A puff of dandelion seeds
Should not be loved
For the fact they may
Eventually become yellow flowers

Those air-light and whisper-thin seeds
May or may not
Ever catch hold of the breeze
Fly close or further away
Find a soft bit of dirt to nestle
Grow, develop, and bloom bright
Thanking the sun for its contribution
With yellow shine all its own

Those seeds may find themselves
As representations
Of a person’s hopeful wish
Spoken breathlessly in a moment

The landing place for a tiny
Kiss of crystal-white
Frosted morning fog
The last holdout
Of a recently-forgotten and
Fondly recalled summer joy

The seed may or may not
Find that sometimes-mythical breeze
Or a place to lay down roots
But that does not mean
That the whisper-light
And air-infused seed
It is not beautiful
And worthy of love all its own

Loving a seed for what it may
Possibly, eventually, might become
Is akin to asking that seed
To strive to be
What it may never become
And everything that it is not now

Why not love the seed
Unconditionally for the beauty
That it already holds
Where the potentiality is a part,
But far from the entire whole?